


The Only Exception

by luvinreallife



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Caretaking, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, i love them, lobalore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:49:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26628562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvinreallife/pseuds/luvinreallife
Summary: Yea... just another lobalore sickfic...
Relationships: Loba Andrade/Bangalore | Anita Williams
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	The Only Exception

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing much to it. Just your two favorite gals suffering together 😌
> 
> Yes, loba gets more sick than bang. No, i dont take criticism.
> 
> Sorry i was gone for a minute. These fires are crazy! Also i learned how to italicize and now idk how to act.

Loba Andrade, master thief and Apex Legend, dabbles in many things. 

Being sick is _not_ one of them. 

Ever since the loss of her parents, she did not _get_ sick. 

In previous foster families, admitting to sickness meant admitting to weakness. 

And weakness was punished. 

So, Loba doesn’t get sick. Or rather, she doesn’t admit it. It was something she had yet to unlearn, even in her adult life. As a grown woman, the times she’s ill are (thankfully) few and far between, but when illness does strike; it’s brutal. As it always had been to her; ever since she was small. 

Loba thought this time would be different. And this time _WAS_ different, the symptoms relatively mild and ignorable. 

Or so she thought, until she was physically unable to get out of bed in the morning. In her fatigue last night, she neglected to charge her phone and put on the nightlight (it had been on a second, but aggravated her headache so she quickly turned it off). The only light in the bedroom is slivers of pale sunlight peeking through the curtains, which the thief was thankful for; she wasn’t sure if this headache could deal with the direct bright morning sun. She spends the rest of the morning and afternoon in bed, drifting in and out of consciousness. 

Suddenly, near the evening, Loba wakes with a start when she remembers the front door is unlocked. Ugh, yet another task she neglected to do yesterday. If only she had the energy to get up and lock it. Hopefully, if someone opened the door and came inside, it would be her lovely solider. How she wishes Anita was here. She wishes to feel safe and protected. 

And that, she is _definitely_ not with the front door unlocked. But, if the demonio came... oh, well. _Death would be a mercy right now,_ her mind tells her. The thought was the last to cross her mind before she fell asleep listening to the heavy rain pattering against the windows. 

****

The storming weather creates a somber atmosphere outside, similar to Anita’s own mood. Her mind is racing as she sets off to Loba’s house. She has a hunch something is off with her girlfriend; but the true cause is unknown and THAT is unsettling. The strong wind rips around her, stinging everywhere bare skin is exposed. The weather is rather unsettling, too, but at least the rain had let up momentarily. 

Is Loba mad at her? 

Though it was possible Loba was upset with her, Anita was nearly positive she hadn’t done or said anything in particular to upset the thief. 

Was Loba ignoring her for a different reason? 

Whatever the issue, Bangalore just hopes she’s not making a mistake by coming here. She takes a deep breath, a feeble act in attempt to calm her nerves, hand moving for the doorknob. Much to her astonishment, the door opens and reveals the ornate interior of her girlfriend’s home. She feels intrusive as her eyes scan over the undisturbed residence; uncertainty burning throughout her. Should she even be here? She wasn’t _invited_ after all, and they’ve only been dating a few months... and why is the door unlocked? That is very unlike the paranoid woman she knows and loves. 

With great hesitation, she steps inside and locks the door behind her. 

The place is silent and seemingly empty; Loba nowhere to be found. The Sergeant’s stance is awkward while she hovers by the front door before deciding to head to the bedroom, her heartbeat loud in her ears as her footsteps echo down the grand hallway. At the end of the walkway is the double doors that lead to her bedroom. Carefully, she pulls the doors apart, the room greeting her with complete darkness. 

After fumbling for the light switch, the darkness is replaced with artificial light. Anita was not expecting to find Loba lying down in bed under a mountainous lot of blankets. As soon as the light streamed in, Loba grimaced with displeasure and brought a blanket over her face, muffling her already quiet greeting. 

“How’s it goin Princess?” Anita asks as she walks to the bed, sweeping a small pile of tissues onto the floor before sitting on the now clear space. Feeling brash and silly for her overthinking earlier, she realizes all of the stress experienced was for nothing. Loba was just here, in bed, sick apparently... congested too, she notes, hearing wheezy breaths and sniffling through a blocked nose.

A used tissue from somewhere in the blanket mound makes its way into Loba’s hand, just in time for her to press a sneeze into it. 

“Ugh.” The sound was a pitiful groan-whine. Loba looked the pitiful part too; a shade or two more pale than normal, cheeks and nose matching shades of pink. Her eyes tug on Anita’s heartstrings the most; red-rimmed and teary. She just looks so.. unwell; but even her exhaustion is poised. The most beautiful yet sorry sight Anita had ever seen. 

“Enjoying the view?” Loba’s sarcasm is muffled by her hand and the worn tissue.

A blush spreads across Anita’s face. It is too damn easy to get caught up staring at her gorgeousness. She shakes her head to remove herself from the beauty induced haze. 

Loba hasn’t removed the hand cupped around her nose and mouth, prompting Anita to ask, “You need a tissue?” 

The response is an eye roll accompanied by a slight nod, it’s all Bang needs to be up and in the cupboard getting a box. Her brown eyes study the box on the walk back, noting its brand (of course such a high societal woman would have the most expensive tissues). 

“You want help in the shower? You look like you could use one.” Anita says, noticing the sweat on her brow and the flush high on her cheekbones. 

“How kind.” The usual satirical charm making an appearance, though diluted from illness. “But I doubt I could stand that long.” 

“How about a bath?” 

Loba considers the offer... well, she does feel rather disgusting. She kicks the blankets off (along with her pride) to give a measly attempt at sitting up. “Lovely.” 

Anita helps her up and supports her as they gradually move towards the bathroom.

****

The water is warm, enough to make Loba’s nose run more than before. Anita walks back in quipped with the box of tissues, which Loba accepts gratefully with a smile and a quiet but genuine thank you. Small apologies are continuously slipping out of her; each met with the same love and reassurance from the older woman. 

Bangalore, as promised, gives her assistance and ensures her touch is gentle as possible. She manages to convince Loba to let her wash her hair and the two speak softly about their days and such, though Bang has more to say, as her day was not spent lying sick in bed. 

A tender scalp massage and body washing later, the bathwater now chill-inducing (judging by the incessant trembling Loba has been doing since having her hair washed). She insists she’s fine but Anita grabs a towel anyway, helping the woman to her feet and out of the tub. The towel helps the shivers subside but her body still shakes in protest of getting out, missing the warmth of the bath. 

“You eaten anything today?” Anita asks, watching the beautiful criminal struggle with pulling her shirt over her head before helping guide her arms through. 

She shakes her head softly.

“Let me make you something.” Bang expects Loba to put up a fight about it, or at least make some kind of remark. Instead she receives a half hearted shrug (that instantly doubles her worry). Anita bounds off to the kitchen in hopes of preparing soup that will help alleviate the symptoms plaguing her girlfriend. 

Loba did not expect her Sergeant’s cooking skills to be terrible; she had faith in the woman’s capability to at the very least not burn down the house. But it is a pleasant surprise that “soup-making” will now be going on her list of Anita’s unexpected talents. Currently Loba was laying down, nearly asleep with her girlfriend sitting beside her; the consistent petting doing numbers to coax her into feeling languorous. 

Loba flinches from her dreamlike daze when she feels something on top of her. Her eyes, glazed and confused, peek up, a few groggy mumbles escaping her lips. 

Anita winced in defeat. “You were shivering. Go back to sleep.” She smooths her calloused palm over the fever-warm cheek of the barely conscious woman. She could’ve punched herself for waking her.

If Loba even heard, she gave no response and fell back asleep. A smile pulls on Anita’s lips as she brings them to her thief’s forehead, and falls just as fast when lips connect with repulsive heat. She makes a mental note to give Loba fever reducer the next time she wakes and hopes she had done a good enough job at caring for her. 

She figures Loba doesn’t need extra body heat when she’s running a fever, so the couch is now where she decides to rest her head. With plans to retire there until morning; she lays down. After a few minutes of mindlessly staring at the vaulted ceiling, Anita’s eyes slip close and she relaxes into a sound sleep.

****

The sleep itself was profound while it lasted. For some reason, she feels an emotional attachment to this stupidly expensive couch, the way it makes for godlike slumber. She wakes hours later to a rustling sound from the bedroom. Following the noise, a shivery Loba shaped figure appears in the doorway and wanders slowly to the couch. Anita adjusts her position to accommodate for her girlfriend and holds her securely. 

Loba speaks first, breaching the stillness that had comfortably settled. “The bed is more comfortable, you know.” The words muttered against Anita’s chest. 

Anita prides herself on being familiar with Loba’s dialect now. They’ve been around each other long enough that she’s able to read between the lines and recognize her unspoken questions embedded in statements. The question presumably something along the lines of: you weren’t in bed with me, care to explain? 

Voice rough with sleep, she responds while running one hand along Loba’s back. “Wasn’t sure if you wanted me in there. And I sure as hell wasn’t waking you up to ask.” A shy smile playing on her features. 

Loba makes a noise of disapproval, “And here I was, thinking you were clever.” She mutters. “I always want you with me,” nestling her cheek against the torso currently serving as her pillow. 

Anita is thankful for the dark, favorably hiding the blush she now feels all throughout her. It was actually unfair how precious this law breaking criminal could be. The network between her brain and mouth seems to stop functioning; the only response Anita can produce is physical. She uses her free hand to tilt her girlfriend’s face up and kisses her in hopes to convey what her voice cannot. Despite the darkness around them, Anita sees Loba’s sweet smile after they pull apart, the sight causing a grin of her own. The two lay entangled on the sofa; her eyes threatening to close when she remembers Loba should have something to help with the fever. 

“Let me up.” The request a delicate whisper into Loba’s hair. 

A curt hum is Loba’s response and she wraps her arms tighter around Anita’s waist, closing her eyes. Stubborn little thief, isn’t she? 

She chokes on a gasp as the world shifts from beneath her, but worry is soon fleeting when her ears pick up on hushed utterances of comfort. 

Bangalore gives an affable eye roll as Loba coughs into her chest; visible tenseness of shoulder blades and stertorous breathing _inviting_ Anita’s touch. The hand stays on her back after the coughing subsides; only finally retreating to allow Loba the grace of laying down. 

She goes to retrieve medicine and water, briskly walking back to Loba’s bedroom. 

The criminal looks truly spent after the series of coughs that convulsed her airways, leading Anita to presume her lovely girlfriend’s suffering will be the same, if not be increased, at daybreak. She helps Loba sit up briefly so she can swallow the tablets before laying back down together.

****

A momentary glimpse of the younger woman in the morning confirms the suspicion she would not be feeling better by the time they were due to battle. Anita attempts to confine Loba to bed rest for the day, instantly being shot down despite the feverish hue on her cheeks and the congestion so apparent in her voice. 

Officer Williams is no fool, the illness painfully obvious, but after the third time she’s been dismissed by Loba it’s settled that the thief will not stay home. She reluctantly lets it go and the two get ready together. 

****

Anita was never the biggest fan of duos, she thought it was more work for less reward in the end. This opinion changed however, as did many others, after she got acquainted with Loba. Now, every match she wished for a duo game with her. The Gods seem to be feeling generous with blessings this day as the two were selected together. 

She checks in with Loba’s condition once in the drop ship. It’s clear she is not feeling as well as she claims to be, and it grates Anita’s nerves that she won’t just say she doesn’t feel good. She’s unsure if Loba is too proud or too embarrassed to admit it, but either way it pisses her off a fair amount.

Silence falls and stays between the couple, the polar opposite of their normally talkative energy. Anita’s been trying to snipe from a Sorting Factory rooftop for a few minutes now, but something keeps throwing her focus off and disturbing the quiet. 

Sniff.

...

Sniff.

...

Sniff.

Damn it, Loba. Bang now finds herself with a headache of her own, the cause surely Loba’s virtually constant sniffing. 

“Blow your nose or get out of earshot,” Anita says with slight impatience peering through the scope of her Sentinel. “I’m trying to concentrate.” Her sentence punctuated by a sniff of her own. 

Loba rolls her eyes with a scoff, insecurity and irritability concealed by a confident stride in the opposite direction, retreating off of the roof. Whether the comment was apart of joking banter or a genuine act of annoyance- Loba didn’t know, but she did know the remark rubbed her the absolute wrong way. 

And (potentially) hurt her feelings a little, too. 

However, the game must go on; so she elects to ignore the comment and her girlfriend in general for the time being. 

Anita turns to watch Loba storm off, her annoyance immediately replacing with sorrow. Damn, she felt like an asshole.. it’s not like it’s Loba’s fault they’re ill. 

Well... 

She decides to abandon her highground in favor of chasing a probably pissed off Loba.

****

It’s not that Anita didn’t know what she was getting into when she discovered Loba sick yesterday. It was unexpected for her to be sick; but not unwelcome. And not caring for her was just _not_ an option. Some might say the kissing was a foolish move, to which Anita completely disagrees, (a kiss shared with Loba is never a kiss wasted) but she figured the cold would hit her in a few days and be no big deal. 

And she was unconvinced the headache was anything to do with illness; until her nose started running, forcing her to sniffle every few seconds. Now, as she sits on a tall peak of the Epicenter, her throat is dry and feels like she needs to cough but is sure the action would hurt.

What the fuck is this? Anita thought she would have more time of being able to breathe through her nose. Or breathe without coughing. 

Now Loba is the one whose concentration is being interrupted; Anita cannot seem to be quiet for more than 30 seconds. 

Bangalore’s dry coughing fit is the last straw. “I can’t hear myself think.” Loba snaps, returning the impatience Anita showed her earlier.

“Not my fault you got me sick.” came Bang’s gruff reply once the coughs ceased. 

An eyebrow raises as she turns to the taller woman. “While your ignorance _is_ charming,” she begins, “You and I both know that _YOU_ came to see _ME_.” Loba reminds the officer, sounding mildly accusatory in defense. 

“You came... you kissed me...” all previous traces of irritation gone from her voice, a smug smile now on her face as she trails off, remembering the intimate moment shared on the couch. “I don’t know what you expected.”

“First off, Princess, the last thing I expected to find was you sick. I slept on the couch for a reason so-“

“Don’t make excuses.” Her face somehow more smug than it was before. “We both know why you showed up.” 

Bang sighs. Does she really want to entertain this? 

“Enlighten me.” Yes, it seems she does. 

“Because you missed me.” 

A chuckle and cough derives from Anita. “No.” 

“Don’t act like it’s not true.” She gloats, lucky she’s so beautiful because Bang could’ve smacked the look off her face onto another planet. 

Anita feels her lip curling in exasperation but another defeated laugh comes out. “I’m not arguing with you.” 

The famous line used by one who knows their argument is wrong. 

****

But argue they do; from then on. About anything and everything- which soup to eat, which tea to make, which blankets to use, where to lay. 

That is, until raising voices grows tiring, both more hoarse than before. Back at Loba’s home, the living room falls silent save for small sounds of illness from both parties.

“Are you hungry?” 

Loba scowled at the thought of food. “No.”

Bangalore barely contains an eye roll. “If I made soup, would you eat it?” 

“No.” 

“How about the soup you wanted earlier?”

_“No.”_ Loba repeats, her stubbornness unfaltering. 

“Why not?” Anita asks, and doesn’t receive an answer. This time she doesn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Is there anything you _will_ eat right now?” 

Loba perks her head up from the pillow. “You,” she purrs. 

Anita gives a soft laugh while walking to the kitchen. “You’re impossible. And you need to eat.” 

Even though Anita made the soup Loba wanted, her thief only had a bit. But the soldier knows the only reason she had any at all was to make her happy. She wonders if Loba would have even eaten at all if she wasn’t here. She finds it strange people lose their appetite when sick, as she’s never been that way herself. Her family had always been big on being hydrated and well fed when ill. The brief reminiscing of her previous life left her feeling happy, as opposed to how it usually would make her sad or homesick. 

She watches Loba lay back down on the couch and debates asking if she’d like to lay elsewhere. Anita elects to stay silent in fear of sparking another argument and decides that Loba would say if she wanted to be in bed, or just get up. 

Loba looks just about as bad as she did yesterday; Bang observes. She stands before her and reaches a hand to her forehead... 

And draws back immediately at the intense heat. 

“Your fever’s still high as hell.” 

The criminal doesn’t open her eyes, just resumes her sleeping position on the couch and hums. 

“How do you feel?” She wants to know because for one, obviously, she cares about Loba’s well being, and two because she wants to know what she might be in for. Though Anita notices that Loba seems to be having it worse, causing her to thank her (seemingly superior) immune system. 

Loba is so, so blissfully tired. Everything hurts: her eyes, throat, head, her entire body feeling somewhere between on fire and freezing. She’s aching, and so sore, and Anita is asking too many questions. All she wants to do is sleep, but this one won’t leave her alone. “The same as the last time you asked me.” Her voice laced with sleep and a dash of annoyance, but as soon as the words left her mouth she felt bad. “How are you feeling, lovely?” Loba opens her pretty amber eyes and even lifts her head a bit from the pillow to look at her girlfriend as inquiry. 

“I don’t feel too bad.” Anita admits as she brushes a piece of hair back from Loba’s face. “Not yet, at least.” 

She hums in acknowledgement and closes her eyes again. “Good.” Now would you please stop talking, nearly follows. 

Anita decides to leave her alone (for now) and sits on the other end of the couch. Not long after, she gives in to the sleep that’s been calling her name all day. 

Loba wakes first an hour later and decides she would much rather be in bed. She’s cold and uncomfortable, as she moves to stand, she sees Anita stirring on the opposite side of the sofa, rubbing her eyes.

“Where’re you going?” Sleep and congestion show through her words. 

“To bed.” Loba answers. “Care to join me?” 

Finally, something they can agree on. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” 

Now Loba’s in bed, waiting (not very patiently) for Anita to join her. Eventually, the bed shifts and she finds herself being pulled into a warm hold. The thief melts into the embrace and smiles when she feels her girlfriend do the same, both giving small sighs of relief at the added heat and comfort. She feels a kiss pressed to her shoulder and Anita’s arm wrap slightly tighter around her waist, the security instantly soothing her to sleep. There’s no distance between them at all as they lay spooning in the bed. 

No matter how little room separates them, it just doesn’t satisfy; never quite feeling like enough. 

Anita finds herself wondering if she’s ever been this happy in her life. She’s doubtful as she nuzzles against Loba’s neck, warm (yet inviting) from her high temperature. Of course she was happy before becoming a Legend, with her family and all, but the irreplaceable joy Loba’s love brings her is incredibly different.

Loba could be completely on top of her, or under her. Be under her skin, even be the very marrow in her bones and it still wouldn’t be too close. 

_‘Everything is possible’._

It used to be something Anita perceived as the truth. 

After their first date, the only exception of the matter was revealed to her: 

being too close to Loba. 

_(Or even close enough)._

That, Legends, Anita knows is _simply_ impossible.


End file.
